Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

It takes me a while to calm down. “I used to feel sad when I lost. I don’t understand where all this…this fury comes from.”

“It’s healthy, Scarlett. Take the anger and use it as fuel.”

And this shit, it’s not the kind of love I’m interested in, Scarlett.”

“Being respected as a swimmer is great. But I don’t want to make that my identity any longer than I already have.

“Are you saying he didn’t love me?” “No. I know he did. And he still cares about you. I just wonder if…” If he didn’t love you the way you want to be loved. If that was so painful, you decided to tell yourself that Lukas simply isn’t capable of deep romantic feelings.

“Is a lie this big really kinder than the truth?”

“You’re not good at this, no more than I am.” “At what?” “At playing fucking games.”

That’s where it lives, my love for him. In the space between the things he could do, and what he chooses instead. Care, swallowing violence, swallowing care. Over and over again, until it’s all exquisitely tangled up together.

What really hurts is pushing him away. The balcony in Amsterdam. His name in my phone. Self-professed belonging.

“Fuck you into a thousand little pieces, and then put them back together. You don’t need me to do it, but it’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to fix you?” It’s horrifying, the truth of it.

“It’s a sign. It’s destiny. God and our ancestors and Emily Dickinson want this from us.”

I cannot wrap my head around it. The person I was two years ago. How alone I felt. Scared of being too much, of not being enough, of being imperfect. Surrounded by impossibles. And now I dove, and—

It all sounds so simple coming from his mouth. The alphabet. The most basic of arithmetic. Us, being in love.